


When Life Began

by WanderingSummerBreeze



Category: Outlander (TV) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 16:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8673733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingSummerBreeze/pseuds/WanderingSummerBreeze
Summary: This fic was to honour 300 followers on Tumblr...a drop in the hat for some people. But I was happy...Simply Sam and Cait and their lives...





	

It pecked at the ground, occasionally fluttering to a new spot, searching for any food, oblivious to its surroundings and the shooing of passerby’s. I watched as he made his way across the busy street, my hand idly tracing up and down the window frame. The pigeon had found a McDonalds wrapper and plucked at it hungrily. Suddenly, a wisp of green came into view and I gasped aloud with an “Oh” as all that remained of the bird was a deathly stain on the city street as the car sped past. I don’t know what made me more upset? That he was dead. Or that the yellow burger wrapper, flattened by the car as well, did appear to have food left inside. He didn’t even get to eat his meal.

I frowned and turned my attention back into the room, pulling myself atop the table, and waited. And waited.

The ticking of the wall clock and incessant wrapping was driving me nuts. I looked down to watch as my fingers tap, tapped against the cold table. Scowling, I I took my disobedient hand in my other hand and closed them in a tight fist, resting them ever so lady-like on my lap.

Impatiently, my eyes scanned the room. The various photos and diagrams of little interest to me as I rang my hands in nervousness, forgoing the finger tapping for a continues beat with my feet against the table.

Left alone to my own thoughts, I couldn’t stop the wheels from turning, trying to figure how exactly I had come to be here.

***Five Months & Thirty days Earlier***

 

“I am NOT drunk,” I said, stumbling into our flat.

“Mrs. Heughan,” Sam started, shutting the front door with a resounding echo that played across the room, dying out somewhere in the hall, and took my arm, pulling me back into him, “you are so drunk, you can barely stand.”

I fell into his warm embrace, nuzzling closer into the crook of his neck, “I don’t need to stand. I have you to lean on,” and I could feel a relaxed sigh escape my body as his large hands roamed across my back before dipping lower to cup my ass. He squeezed my cheeks, eliciting a squeak and giggle from me.

“I think I need to put you to bed.”

I stood straight, escaping his limb prison, “No. It’s not polite to seduce a woman who may have had a little too much to drink while out with friends.”

“No,” Sam shrugged off his coat, hanging it on the front hall hook, along with the keys, and took me by the hand, leading us into the bedroom, “what is impolite, is getting a call from your wife’s friend that your significant other is nine sheets to the wind. Thus, taking you away from the riveting match on the television at the pub.”

“Stupid Donal,” I muttered under my breath as I trailed behind Sam.

He pulled me in front of him, quirked an eyebrow, and motioned me to lift my arms, with the added, “Up.”

I did as instructed, raising my arms high above my head, teetering a bit. Sam lifted my black T-shirt over my head, my hair, tightly knotted in a bun at the start of the evening, cascaded around my shoulders in a whirlwind of glossy brown.

I had worn a basic bra for the evening. I tend to prefer simple, yet elegant, lace. Sam’s fingers traced under the wire, his fingertips softly grazing my skin, causing ripples across my body as I fell slightly forward into him. He steadied me, then made his way round to the back of the bra, unclasping me and stripping the garment from my body. It found a home, along with my shirt, on the floor near his nightstand.

Sam continued to undress me, releasing the button on my jeans while staring into my eyes, before kneeling and peeling the skinny jeans down my legs, tugging them from my feet as I balanced on his shoulders.

From above, he appeared as a hawk, eyeing his prey. His nose, barely noticeable in the dim room, constricting with concentration on finding the source of the tantalizing aroma he detected. Sam leaned in to my plain white panties, his nose buried in my crotch, and sniffed, long and hard, savouring my natural perfume.

“Have you eaten today, love?”

I hiccupped, an annoying, if not completely clichéd, response to the alcohol consumed this evening. “No.”

“Hmm. Neither have I,” and I watched the scene before me like a car coming through the fog. Slow at first, then right upon you before you knew it. Sam ran his tongue across the front of my panties before slipping his fingers alongside the elastic, pulling the damp panties down my legs. “You’re wet. Is that from me? Or someone else?”

“Always you.”

A barely audible noise caressed his throat before he spoke again, “How many men hit on you tonight?” I shook my head, “Tell me the truth, Caitriona. How many men wanted to take you home?”

I shook my head again, but smiled shyly in my drunken stupor, “A few. “

There was that noise again, like a monster living deep in his throat. Sam stood up and I could feel my nakedness turning me on more. I wanted him to join me, so I touched his hand with mine. He let me, but used his other hand to trace down the side of my cheek. My eyes blinked, willing my vision to steady, but Sam quickly turned me round, away from him. I squeaked and laughed a little.

“Shhhh,” he spoke through my hair, then our bodies began to sway back and forth to some unknown erotic music. I closed my eyes, drifting away into semi-consciousness as Sam’s hand traveled down my body, nails tracing over my hips, then back again.

Suddenly I felt a sharp smack to my ass. 

 

“Owe,” I turned my head and rubbed my ass, but Sam pulled my hand free and held me tight against him, forcing my gaze ahead once more.

“Were you tempted?”

The sting on my behind slowly receding, yet still very much in the forefront of my mind, I shook my head in confusion, “By what?”

“The men. At the bar.” He began to sway once more, carrying my body along with the tide, “Did you want them to take you home.”

“Never. Only you.”

“Hmm. I don’t know if I believe you. You did string me along and tease me for a long while before finally letting me inside you. You’re a tease, Cait.” 

Another blow landed heavily on my backside, the sound like a fish being walloped on the side of the head. I jerked, but didn’t pull away. Sam rubbed the spot with his hand while the other one probed my heated flesh directly on the other side of my body. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked in barely a whisper. I could feel his smile against my cheek.  
I dropped my head back against his shoulder and continued to sway with him, “No. Don’t stop.”

Another smack combined with two fingers pushing inside me. My legs quivered and gave way, bringing me to the floor in front of him. Sam pulled me up once more, steading me. His left hand found my wet center again, pushing the two fingers back inside.

Smack

I jerked again and pushed against his probing fingers.

“Apologize. Apologize for pulling me from my evening. For making me worry about your safety. Apologize.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know if I believe you. I think I should still punish you,”   
Smack

“Oh, God.” My hand flew to his, holding his searching fingers inside my body. “Yes. Keep punishing me.”

Sam pushed my upper body forward until I lay my head flat on the bed, ass high in the air in front of him. The jagged sound of a slowly lowering zipper reverberated through my ears. I felt Sam push up against me. He was still clothed, but had pulled his cock free from his jeans.

Sam rubbed up against me, sliding his cock between my ass cheeks. I felt, rather than heard, his throaty growl as I backed up into him.

“Jesus,” he said as his rubbed himself up and down. The cold, coarse, zipper of his jeans dug into my skin.

Smack

“Ah,” I called out at the same time I heard an explanative fall from his lips.

Smack

“Fuck,” Sam dropped his head against my back, “Do you realize how hard you clench your ass when I do that. I feel like my cock is in a vice.”

Smack

We both called out in something between pain and pleasure then. Unable to take it any longer, Sam pulled back and without any tender words or soft finger play, plunged his penis inside me, pushing into my cervix hard enough to make me gasp.

He didn’t wait for my body to accommodate his, but pulled nearly all the way out before roughly pushing back inside. 

Sweat dripped down my back as I clenched my fists into the sheets. Sam grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulling me up with every thrust before finally delivering one final blow on my ass. My body clenched and I arched my back as I felt him explode deep within me.

We rested a few moments. Any intoxication to my body from the alcohol long forgotten. Sam pulled free and sank to his knees behind me, resting his head on my hip. I peered behind me, smiling in foggy pleasure. He rubbed his hand over my backside, soothing the battered cheeks.

He smiled, beautiful and sincere, “Did I hurt you?”

I wiggled my ass in his face, “Nope.”

Smack

***Now***  
I smiled to myself at the memory. I had returned the favour not long after. His ass becoming a lovely shade of red that couldn’t be replicated by any hue of blush found on the market. I found, however, that I much preferred being the one such attentions were paid to.

Sam did as well.

Like a desert animal shaking off a flea, I shuddered as the coolness of the room penetrated the thin gown I wore. I looked at my watch, huffed at the time, then planted my eyes firmly on the poster describing, in magnificent detail, the anatomy of the male human body. I lowered my eyes to the penis, and smiled.

***Five months, Twenty-nine days & Twelve Hours Earlier***

Pre-cum dripped from the head as I slowly pushed his foreskin upward. I licked the tip clean, before engulfing him in my mouth once more. I shifted my position, the gear shift in the car pushing into my rib in the most infuriating way. Sam’s hand came to rest on the top of my head. Not pushing me forward. Not guiding me. Just…there.

I brought my mouth as close to the base as possible, unable to take his full girth down my throat, and pulled his balls free from his trousers, possibly ripping the seam of the zipper as I did. I cupped them in my hand, and ignoring his cock for the moment, leaned in to take each one in my mouth. I sucked gently, feeling Sam’s ass rise off the seat slightly as I did. Each testicle fell with a pop from my mouth as my tongue traveled up his member once more. 

“Come here,” Sam called to me. We kissed, urgently and possessively. Sam’s hand touched mine as we worked his cock together while our tongues battled for control.

“My balls,” he said and I switched hands, cupping his balls in my left hand, rolling them between my fingers and tugging just that right amount, while my right continued its dance with his hand. He was close and while I desperately wanted to see the cum shoot from his body and leak down our hands, I couldn’t allow it this time.

We were dressed for dinner. A business dinner. And it was someone’s wild idea to tame the dragon before sitting down to a two-hour meal and lecture on how to behave in public.  
We couldn’t think of any better way of behaving in public than a blowjob in the car in the parking lot outside the restaurant.

I leaned over once more, taking the head into my mouth, sucking hard while we squeezed lower, together. Sam’s breathing increased to one long, never-ending breath, before he tensed and relaxed, his seed filling my mouth, overflowing it and dripping down onto our still hands.

I cleaned up, licking up every, last bit I could find, tickling the exposed golden pubes with my tongue before Sam laughed and pushed me gently off him.

I settled into my seat, laughing to myself as much as to the situation, pulling a tissue from my clutch and wiping the corners of my mouth.

“Ready?”

I nodded, “Yep. Good for now.”

***Now***

Okay. So, it couldn’t be then. But what about….

***Five months, Twenty-Nine Days & Ten Hours Earlier***

Nearly two hours into this bloody meal, both of us had probably bit into our tongues as much as the food in front of us. The level in which our bosses could push themselves into our private lives was enough to make us want to scream.

We sat in the corner of darkened restaurant. The atmosphere surrounding us on this Sunday evening called for romance and luxury. Our table, on the other hand, was filled with business, politics and two people unrestricted from showing their love in public. Maril, the voice of reason, would cough quietly anytime Ron and Terry would start up on their private lives, calling them back to the here and now. 

Finally, discussion had moved onto a more level playing field, so to speak. Sam and Ron had fallen victim to their genders and began discussing America football, while Maril, Terry and myself discussed everything else.

Maril had excused herself to make a call, leaving Terry and I discussing the new Burberry line and our desire to bring back the 2010 lineup. Terry went off on a banter as I picked up my wine glass, eager to let the fruity flavour coat my lips once more, then I felt a hand on my thigh, under the tablecloth.

I stopped drinking abruptly, but it was only the briefest of pauses, and while taking a quick glance around the table, had gone completely un-noticed. I relaxed back into my drink as the hand made its way further up my leg, inching under the hem of my dress.

I stole a side-ways glance to my right and Sam was buried deep in conversation with Ron. And very soon, as the hand moved further North, it would be buried deep within me.

I wore no panties, something not entirely unusual for me, and spread my legs ever so slightly, granting access. For all intents and purposes, I’m certain I looked and acted the perfect conversationalist. I nodded in agreement at Terry’s suggestions and even managed a few, “Uh huh’s,” in between little gasps that I had to let free inside my wine glass.  
Sam, ever the dexterous one, had curled one finger inside me. My thighs were still slick from my earlier actions on his body and took no time at all to prepare for his intrusive finger.

If the two people across from us, and, glancing to the hallway leading to the bathroom, where Maril stood on her phone, had any idea what they were inviting into the evening when they sat Sam and I on the booth side, they would have used better judgement.

I clenched my thighs together. I could see Sam’s arm moving above the table-cloth in the slightest motion. But, catching sight of his ring finger on his other hand tracing the rim of his glass in Ron’s eyesight, I had realized, with great pride, that he had mastered the art of subtle distraction.

I smiled inwardly, taking another long sip of wine. Sam’s finger curled further, as much as the position allowed, and his thumb rounded my clit. I clutched my knees tight, trapping his hand, but not his movements as they sped up. I was close and could feel my lower body move against the friction.

The waiter came over to take our dessert order and Terry and Ron’s attention shifted to him. Sam, the bastard, seized his opportunity and pressed harder against my clit, pushing me over the edge. My eyes shut tightly and I let out a straggled gasp that I tried to bury into my napkin. Suddenly, all eyes were on me.

I coughed a bit into the napkin, “Sorry,” cough, “wine went down the wrong way.”

Terry looked concerned, but I waved it off as they both returned their attention back to the waiter. I felt Sam’s hand slide from my body and retreat. Smiling under my napkin, I turned to see his stupid grin, only to see Maril standing two feet away from Sam. A slight blush on her face, shaking her head ever so slightly. She smirked, took her seat and gestured to the waiter, “I’ll take the chocolate cake and I think,” she gestured to us, “they’ll take the cream stuffed pastry.”

***Now***

I shook my head. That tiny little bean has a way of always coming in at the most inopportune time. 

I slid off the table, glancing at my watch again. She was late. So was he. I felt like I had been waiting for an hour, but it had only been 10 minutes. I stretched my arms up, my whole body following in a cat-like expression. 

So, it couldn’t be then either. But what about after the dinner…

I pushed my finger into his backside deeper, stroking his prostate. Sweat dripped from his skin like a dying man in the desert, calling out my name in pants and moans, as if calling to God himself to take him away. Sheer nirvana swept through his body, with his tightly shut eyes and fevered skin and I knew it was time.

“Yes, Sam... yes. Cum for me. Cum all over my body.”

Sam jerked once, twice, finally, shooting his semen across my breasts, droplets splattering my abdomen as I rubbed the salty liquid over my body, arching up to make contact with his cock, hovering just above me, as he straddled my body.

Nope. I mean, it could have been. It isn’t unheard of, or even on the far-fetched side of things. But I don’t think that was the moment. 

So, if it wasn’t any of them…?

My hand flew to my mouth and I smiled against the cool skin. “It couldn’t be, could it?”

***Six Months Earlier***

It had been cold for a while now, but December brought with it a chill that froze you to the very marrow of your bone. I wiped stubborn, errand, snow-flakes from my coat, the rest having succumbed to evaporation in the heat of my trailer moments before.

Today was the day. We had been separated for months, not as Sam and Cait, but Jamie and Claire. Sam, Matt B, the director and I had gone over the scene with meticulous caution, more than mindful of the moment we would be creating on screen.

Working without Sam the last few months felt like an unwanted divorce. It was odd at first, simply feeling as if I was in a different production. After nearly three solid years of the cold and mud, poshness and elegance, of the 1800’s, I was thrust into the twentieth century. New hair. New clothes. Not the home I was used to when I would come to work. I felt like an alien in a foreign land with a strange character. A character I found difficult to come to terms with every day I showed on set and Sam wasn’t by my side. Or me, by his.

Sam had said much the same when he began, well before me, shooting Season three. The first few weeks, he had said, were fun. Slipping through the mud and blood with all the guys. But after about two weeks of that, he had come home, dropped his coat on the floor in exhaustion, and crawled onto the couch, resting his head on my lap while I stroked his hair, and held onto my body tightly.

The separation was doing neither of us any good. He worked on set. I worked on my charity. He worked on his charity, I worked on set. Our schedules barely every colliding, crawling into bed just as the other was getting up.

We had never stopped having our moments and sometimes they were just that – moments. A quickie in the shower in the morning. A slow, languid joining of our bodies late in the night, no words spoken, choosing to communicate only with a push of hips or soft caress. 

But this weekend we were facing peace. It was Friday. We rehearsed all week. Jamie and Claire would finally be together for good. Perhaps separated, occasionally, through 

circumstance, only to be pulled back by magnetic force to one another again – forever. And with the peace of our characters, thus came the peace for ourselves.

I had my partner back with me.

We had both woken with a great eagerness and excitement akin to a child on Christmas morning. We refrained from any form of lovemaking the last few days. We certainly couldn’t match twenty years apart - nor would we desire to – but would try to be authentic in our desperation for one another. 

And we were bloody desperate to be together again.

Makeup, wardrobe, or lack there of, and notes, all done. I walked, as if in a dream fog, through the bedroom set door in near slow motion, staring at the surroundings of the tiny room in the “brothel”.

Sam was already there. So was Jamie.

We were to do all the print shop scenes toward the end of next week. Today – today was Jamie and Claire’s reunion. We stood in robes, naked underneath, save the modesty pouches, to do a run-through before actually shooting the love scene. 

The set was closed but still had about twelve people fluttering about. Sam and I disrobed and climbed into bed, pulling the thick quilt up around us, taking direction on where we were starting and, well, ending.

Sam shifted himself under the quilt, a look of concern on his face.

“What is it?” I asked.

He glanced at me, around the room, then quietly, under his breath, murmured, “The pouch is killing me.”

I lifted an eyebrow in question.

“I tied it tighter than I usually do, and I feel as if I’m wearing a cock ring. I’m hard as anything.”

I turned my head, laughing into the pillow next to me.

“Your fault, Cait. Maybe if you started wearing your patch, I wouldn’t be like this.”

I touched his face with affection and more then a little mockery, “As if that would stop Mr. Happy.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed and he shifted once more, his hardness meeting my thigh. I jumped a little and mouthed a “Wow” in surprise. He was hard.  
Sam just rolled his eyes.

I rolled my eyes back at him, “Just take the bloody thing off. At least under the covers. It’s just the run-through.”

Sam took another scan of the room, noticing no one paying any attention to us, busy setting up for the scene. He nodded and I felt his hand fumbling beneath the covers. Finally, with a relaxed sigh, he smiled.

The director went over the scene with us once more, and finally, why the lighting guys adjusted the lights above us, we caressed each other and spoke of years apart, bashfulness of closeness and desire to touch. Skimmed over broken noses and nervousness. And when the words were finally spoken, “Give me your mouth, Sassenach,” Jamie and Claire were finally united.

Jamie pushed my arms above my head and began to move his lower half. I bit his shoulder and shouted out to him, exactly as the script had been written. Just then, Jamie pushed into Claire, but Sam had misjudged his body and his movements. Greatly. 

My eyes shot open, much the way Claire’s were supposed to. In that instant, Sam and I froze, our heartbeats the only thing echoing in our ears until the director urged us to continue. But we didn’t move. 

On occasion, there had been some erotic rubbing and caresses in the right spot that would make us giggle under our breath. After all, you can’t do scenes like we do, even with modesty protectors, and not have the occasional contact. But this time…

Our eyes never left each other, but our shock left us paralyzed. Sam could have pulled out, no one the wiser. But he didn’t. He didn’t move at all.

“Guys, c’mon. You were doing so well. Just take it from there. Jamie enters Claire.” 

Sam enters Caitriona.

Resolved, I nodded ever so slightly to Sam. Whether it was a nod for him to continue or to pull out, has been a debate for six months. His grip tightened on my wrists and he began to move, the covers shielding us – I hoped.

I cried out to Jamie, the pleasure building, but Sam’s – I mean – Jamie’s – violent movements and the act we were carrying out in front of a room full of people was too much and my cries became screams.

In the far recesses of my mind, I could hear the directions of “Yes! Perfect! Just tone down the screaming a bit.”

I tried to oblige, softening my cries while Sam’s groans were a mixture of his own and the Jamie I had come to know.

“Now bite her,” came the direction from several feet away. 

And just as Sam leaned over me, he tensed, bit my neck and whispered, “Be still,” and I felt him flood my body with his warm semen.

We remained unmoving for a very long moment. The whole thing must have only been about thirty seconds, and yet, those thirty seconds felt like a lifetime.  
A cough came from the right of us, our heads turning in slow motion toward the director.

He clapped his hands once, smiled, stood from his crouching position and then looked confused, “Okay. That was good. But why did you stop there? We’ll go again. And this time, Sam, I want you to say “’Be Still’’’ a little louder. We want the audience to hear."

The director turned away as Matt B walked up to the bed, pages in hand, our silence screaming in his ears, “The audience heard. Loud and clear,” he smiled and turned on his heel.

Sam and my eyes met, our mouth frozen open in shock. Sam swallowed with a large gulp. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Smell the air. You’ll know,” I said as the aroma of our sex began to flood my nostrils, “Everyone will know.”

***Now***

There was a knock on the door, but before I could answer, Sam had opened it and walked in, closing it with a silent click behind him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, coming up to me to kiss me lightly on the lips.

“Seriously. Can you ever be on time?”

He smirked and gestured me to sit back on the exam table.

He was about to speak when I interrupted him, “Did you know we conceived our child on set?” The last two words spoken in a whisper as if we were being spied upon.

Sam laughed, “Yeah.”

I dropped my shoulders in astonishment and he laughed.

“I may not be the best when it comes to arithmetic, Cait, but I can count backward,” he shrugged. “It was a good thirty seconds.”

I rolled my eyes, “It’ll serve you right if we find out it’s a girl today.”

Sam walked up to me, standing between my legs, and kissed my nose, “I should be so lucky to have two beautiful women in my life,” and he kissed me, solidly and lovingly.


End file.
